One Enchanted Evening: The Oaken, #1

By Megan Smith

 

The Oaken...
Humans long ago turned their backs on magic and the Oaken were charged with keeping it alive. Moving through glittering ballrooms and elegant manor houses, they find the most powerful magic…is love.

 

The touch of souls in a single glance...

Lord Archer Sinclair spent his nights among the Echelon and his days running Rowen. Having been bred on duty and honor his whole life, he expected his eventual marriage would be one of convenience and advantage. Until he looked across a ballroom and everything changed. With one glance, he knew that she was meant to be his and nothing would stop him from having her by his side-even Garnet herself.

 

A love too strong to deny...

Garnet had been raised to believe family was everything. And her family were pirates. Which meant that forming an attachment to a Sinclair would only bring trouble. She knew that marriage between them was impossible, but Archer refused to see reason no matter how logically she argued and under his relentless pursuit, found her heart aching for what could never be.

 

A double pairing of souls...

Jade Renaux sympathized with her twin sister but found herself with the same struggle when she met Lord Sinclair's identical twin, Lucas. From the first moment they met over an enspelled and coded message, they recognized a kindred spirit in each other but faced the same impossibilities their siblings did. But, like his brother, Lucas refused to accept that together they couldn't find a way to have their forever.

Both men were determined to capture the women destined to be theirs and convince them that what began on one enchanted evening was meant to last a lifetime….

A clean, light paranormal, historical romance with humor, heart, and a swirl of magic.

Pick up your copy today!

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Megan Smith
• Release date: Dec 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9798215085967

Book preview

Chapter 1

Y ou have the devil’s own luck, Blackthorne! 

Lord Archer Sinclair, Marquess of Blackthorne, leaned casually back in a chair and raised a cut crystal glass to his lips while tilting his head in acknowledgment of the other man’s frustrated comment.

No different than any other night, Timsley. What’s your move?

Archer slanted an amused glance toward the man seated next to him who’d made the wry comment. Lord Alexei Christellis had attended school with him as a boy and they’d remained friends throughout their rakehell years, sitting many times as they were now-at a gaming table in the middle of a ball. Alexei hadn’t grown any more patient with age when someone at the table was deliberating too long or complaining when their luck was down.

Lyrical music floated in dimly from beyond the doors of the cardroom where Lord and Lady Allemande were hosting one of the enumerable balls of the season. A pair of carved oak pocket doors closed the room off from the noise and light of the rest of the party, leaving those in the card room to play in relative quiet, undistracted from the exuberance of country dances and waltzes currently being played.

Flicking a glance across the table, he watched the other man nervously shift his cards while smoothing one hand over his chin. Knowing the outcome of what would happen, Archer waited patiently for his prey to act. He’d been playing with the Baron for weeks, slowly reeling him into his trap as the other man became hopelessly indebted to him. Unlike a more temperate man, who knew to quit when the tables turned on him, the Baron couldn’t stop himself from taking the bet or playing the next hand, sure his luck was about to turn.

Normally, Archer avoided men like him-hardly able to keep the disdain from his gaze while knowing the man’s wife was sitting at home sick with worry about how they were going to pay any of their bills as her husband gambled everything on the turn of dice-but the artifact he possessed needed to be stored safely in the Rowen vaults and winning it seemed the easiest way to achieve that.

Swearing lightly, the Baron grabbed the small notepad set on the felt table for just that purpose and quickly scrawled out an IOU before tossing the paper onto the pile in the center. Lifting his chin slightly, Archer suppressed the surge of satisfaction that flooded through him as he read what was on the thin, cream paper.

Emeralds. They’ll cover the bet.

Nodding slightly in agreement, the game ended with a splay of hands-and left Baron Timsley staring in disbelief as Archer calmly scooped his winnings close.

I’ll send someone for the emeralds tomorrow, he informed the other man before tucking his winnings into his wallet and standing, thank you for the game, gentlemen.

Giving a short nod to the other two men, he left the Baron with his mouth working soundlessly and allowed himself a tiny smile as one of the footmen sprang forward to slide open the doors. Music, laughter, and animated chatter assaulted his senses as he strode confidently out into the crush, never noticing the admiring glances of the women that clung to his wide shoulders or the envy of the men at the innate cool self-possession not many could pull off.

Spotting his parents standing across the room with his sister Cecily, he began to carefully wind his way through the crush of people in the ballroom toward them.

Events such as tonight’s ball were often helpful in his work at Rowen and he stopped casually at various groupings of people, mingling easily while his ears constantly scanned through the idle chatter for anything that pricked his instincts, his mind cataloging relationships, alliances, and weaknesses in those around him.

He’d done the same in the cardroom, tucking away various snippets of conversations murmured among the tables illuminated by flickering candles and hissing gas lamps as maids circulated with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres for the guests. Each comment or facial expression seemed harmless at face value, but slipped into the constantly evolving web of information filtering through his head, they often came together to form a complete picture.

Finally reaching the side where his parents held court, he slipped a flute off a passing tray and greeted one of the dowagers in the circle with an easy smile before leaning back against the wall next to his cousin, Ralston, who lounged with a closed expression, deliberately ignoring the many women attempting to get the very handsome-and very single dukes attention.

Get it? Ralston asked casually and Archer shot him a look.

Of course.

Timsley’s an idiot. I don’t know how he managed to win the emerald off of Crawley in the first place. Think he had any idea of its true worth?

He wouldn’t have been so quick to toss it in if he did.

They were both silent for a moment, considering the damage the intellectually challenged baron could have done if he knew just what magic the emerald cradled within its shimmering depths. Archer gave an inner shudder and made a mental note to send someone from Rowen to collect the necklace as soon as the servants started stirring. No need to play with fate.

I heard something earlier, out in the gardens Ralston murmured, his expression casual as he tilted his glass up while watching the dancers whirl around the floor. It appears there’s to be an auction soon. Hosted by Micheline Laveau.

Resisting the urge to swear, a lifetime of practice kept his face impassive as Archer listened to the last news he wanted to hear.

Micheline Laveau was a beautiful, elegant widow...who just happened to run an illegal underground auction specializing in extremely rare-and more often than not stolen-magical artifacts. Each auction was held in a secret, revolving location and invitations were extremely coveted-as well as almost impossible to get. Only the wealthiest, highest of the Echelon even heard a whisper about the auctions-let alone found themselves holding an invitation to one.

As the current head of Rowen, he had run up against the deadly Madam Laveau many times while attempting to acquire or retrieve artifacts that should by rights be resting safely in the vaults underneath Oak Haven castle. Hearing that a new auction was in the works only portended headaches to come for him.

Any idea what’s being sold?

No. It sounded like it might be nearby, but I’ll put out some feelers.

Nodding, he drained his glass and set it on the tray of a passing servant. I’ll talk to my father tonight. See if he’s heard anything, he added before nudging his cousin covertly when he noticed a striking, middle-aged woman in navy bearing down on them. Aunt India looks to have a bee in her bonnet. You in her black books?

Catching sight of his mother eyeing them with a determined look, Ralston sighed. We have to dance.

Pardon me?

Ralston. Archer, the dowager duchess of Ellesmore huffed to a stop beside them and arched one eyebrow up commandingly, neither of you have stood up with Bristol or Cecily tonight. Go and do so now.

Both men were used to giving orders-not taking them-but were also smart enough to know not to challenge the women of their family. Strong and arrogant as the Sinclair and Claremont men might be-it was a well-known fact that their women were the only ones able to make them toe the line without hesitation.

Murmuring apologies, India laughed at their blatant attempts to look contrite. I know you’re ready to leave but the girls have been anxious to dance with you. It’s important to them.

You mean it’s important for them to be noticed Ralston commented drily, earning a quelling look from his mother. Laughing, he bent to lightly buss her cheek. I haven’t forgotten, Mama. And, I might have requested a few friends dance with them as well.

Smiling brilliantly at him, she shooed him toward his sister, who was chatting with bubbly enthusiasm in a circle of friends. With a short bow, Ralston strode off toward Bristol while Archer looked for his sister, only to spot her lining up for a dance. He’d already signed her dance card earlier-having received a similar command from his mother-he let his gaze slide over the crowd, idly noting who was there.

He abruptly stopped on a woman taking her place a few couples down from Cecily, his attention snapping onto her face like a band pulling taunt.

Black hair was pulled up into a mass of ringlets onto the crown of her head, curls springing down to brush against her neck as she moved. A figure more lush than currently fashionable was lovingly encased in a lavender gown with a squared neck that ended in lightly puffed sleeves and a lace-covered bodice that narrowed at the waist only to bell out gracefully in a waterfall of silk to touch the ground. Long white gloves encased graceful hands and arms, which moved charmingly as she spoke with a smile to her companion, who stared at her with an arrested expression.

The beginning notes of the song sounded in the air and she turned her head at that moment, her eyes colliding with his. Almond-shaped, sea-blue eyes widened as they stared at each other, caught in an invisible web that tied them together. Archer felt something unfamiliar stir within, an instinctive recognition and conqueror’s instinct that claimed her irrevocably as his.

Mine.

The knowledge poured through his soul even as she jerked her gaze free from his to take her partner's hand as the dance began. She continually found him while she moved, as though unable to stop herself from seeking his brilliant peridot gaze even as she turned and dipped automatically through the lively dance.

Never taking his focus off of her, he lightly touched his aunt’s arm to gain her attention. Who’s the woman in lavender? Dancing with Wilmot.

The duchess searched the dancers until she found the one he referenced and slanted an amused sideways glance his way. That is Miss Garnet Renaux. She and her family are staying with her aunt and uncle, Sir Reeves, she paused before bestowing a piece of information she knew would intrigue her nephew, they’re from Saint Celene.

Saint Celene? he echoed in surprise, narrowing his gaze when Wilmot brushed closer to Miss Renaux than was needed.  They’re pirates.

Alleged pirates. You know no one on Saint Celene admits to anything. But, I’m fairly certain that her father, Mr. Garren Renaux, is one of the pirate kings. Tread carefully, Archer.

Slanting an amused glance her way with the half-smile that drove so many women crazy, he strode across the room with the lazy, single-minded grace of a predator on the hunt as the dance began to wind down.  Moving with deliberate casualness to mask his destination from the gossip-minded crowd, he stopped briefly to greet those he knew before slipping easily away to gain his final destination as the music ended.

Slipping an arm through his hostess of the evening, he leaned down to murmur a desire to be introduced to Miss Renaux. A speculative smile lit her face as she graciously inclined her head and moved toward the small group of young people Wilmot was handing her back to.  All attention turned toward the influential society maven, various gazes widened in cautiously surprised recognition when they noticed Archer on her arm.

Miss Renaux, please allow me to present Lord Archer Sinclair, the Marquess of Blackthorne. Lord Blackthorne-Miss Garnet Renaux Lady Allemande smiled, her sharp eyes silently telling him she’d noted his interest-a event rare enough to cause comment in those watching avidly.

Bowing over the hand she stretched out, he felt her shudder slightly as her palm slid into his. Pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, he slanted a glance up and caught the flicker of answering awareness in her sea-colored eyes.

Miss Renaux, would you do me the honor of the next dance? he asked smoothly, straightening up while tightening his grip on the hand he hadn’t relinquished. She eyed him back, obviously recognizing the predator circling, and smiled regretfully.

I’m afraid the next dance has already been promised to Mr. Lampton she informed him as the aforementioned young man straightened with a delighted smile while the musicians began the opening strains of a waltz.

Mr. Lampton doesn’t mind giving up his dance-do you Lampton?

Without waiting for the now frowning young man to answer, Archer swept her out onto the dance floor.  Miss Renaux looked up at him chidingly as he stopped them on an empty part of the floor, the other dancers poised around them.

I don’t think Mr. Lampton is happy with you absconding with his dance she commented and he just raised an eyebrow imperiously while sliding one arm around her corseted waist.  Suppressing a smile when he heard her breath catch at his touch, he held up his hand and simply watched as hers slowly came up to curl around his.

He’ll be fine, he replied dismissively and her chin tiled up, eyes challenging his.

"And what if I’m not? You didn’t wait to see if I wanted to dance with you" she pointed out and a slow smile touched his lips as, with strong, confident control, he began to swirl her around the room.

The first revolution around the room was quiet as he moved her with the masterful skill all Sinclair’s were known for, teaching her to trust his lead as he whirled her gracefully, floating and dipping along with the music. He kept her gaze pinned with his, forcing her to focus on only him with each turn and slide, as they both grew comfortable with how naturally their bodies moved together.

You’re new to Alessand he commented finally and she nodded, the soft curls at her nape brushing her cheek as they turned.

We arrived a week ago.

And how do you find it?

It’s lovely. Though we haven’t had much chance to explore yet. I’m anxious to see everything before we go to my aunt and uncle’s country house in a few weeks.

In Heathstead, isn’t it? Amblin Manor.

Raising an eyebrow as he informed her subtly that he knew who her relatives were, she nodded.  Yes, I’m told the season’s almost over here.

Then we’ll have to visit as many of the sights as possible until it’s officially finished he informed her and she tilted her head to the side, amusement sparking in her eyes.

Will we? You do like to command, don’t you Lord Blackthorne?

One wide shoulder shrugged as he deftly slid her to the side to avoid an enthusiastic couple about to collide with them. Blame my parents. They raised me to lead.

She laughed, shaking her head. Somehow, I don’t think it’s your parents’ fault. And, I have family and friends who are perfectly willing to show me the sights.

I can guarantee that accompanying me will be....much more entertaining he murmured, peridot eyes darkening with a promise that caused her breath to catch.

I suspect you’re a rake, my Lord. I heard the others talking when you came up. I’m sure it wouldn’t be wise to go anywhere with you.

His arm around her waist tightened, inching her closer while not bothering to deny the truth. And yet...you’ll still go he stated and she opened her mouth to argue only to stop with a hint of uncertainty in her eyes, the ephemeral something that both of them felt, strong enough to give her pause.

I...don’t know that that would be a good idea she answered slowly and a smile edged in wicked charm tilted the corners of his mouth.

I’ve found that most things I’ve truly wanted, others have thought to be not ‘good ideas’ but worth it in the end.

Searching his face, she rolled her bottom lip with her teeth. And what is it that you want, Lord Blackthorn?

A pirate's smile grew wider as they slowed in time with the music.

"I want you, Miss Renaux."

Chapter 2

Garnet missed a step as she stared dumbly at him, his blunt, promise-filled statement echoing in the air between them.

Polite clapping filled the air as the music stopped. He bowed before her and she automatically sank into a curtsey. He reached a hand down to help her up but another hand slipped in front to grasp her fingers.

My turn, I believe.

Lord Blackthorne’s head snapped around, eyes narrowing at the broad-shouldered man smiling with easy charm at her. He opened his mouth to protest but before he could, the man slid her arm through his and led her away with a bland, teeth-filled smile tossed at the other man.  Blackthorne.

Taking their place among the dancers filling the ballroom floor again, she tore her gaze away from the man now glowering at them from the side and looked into the amused pale blue eyes of her new dance partner. Mentally searching for the name scrawled on her dance card, it came abruptly-along with the extreme caution in her aunt’s face when she’d made their introduction.

Lord Sebastian, Viscount St. James.

You would be wise to avoid the Marquess of Blackthorne he commented, stepping forward to swing her into the rhythm of the dance as the music started.

Oh?

He’s a rake of the first order. Any woman he turns his attention to ruffles the feathers of every protective mother around he added and she studied the man, wondering at the fear she’d seen in those of the eyes around them coupled with the smiling, easy charm he exuded.

And being a rake yourself, you would recognize the danger? she countered and amusement flashed across his face as he waltzed her past Archer.

I readily admit to my own rakish tendencies-which aren’t near to being as severe as his. Or all of the Sinclair’s. You should avoid the entire clan if you can he counseled and her lips twitched.

Why do I have a feeling you two have a rivalry of some sort?

I’m not sure I’d call it a rivalry so much as...steadfast enemies he confessed, flashing a smile she knew had caused more than one heart to pound with anticipation. Oddly, it didn’t have near the effect Archer’s did, something that gave her pause.

That seems a harsh term for two men who make it a point to be as charming as possible. What makes you enemies? Competition for the same opera dancer?

Something far less important, I’m afraid. He’s the current head of Rowen, he informed her and she tilted her head in question so he answered with a twist of